


Heartfelt

by Gypsywriter135



Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-17
Updated: 2013-10-17
Packaged: 2017-12-29 16:41:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1007688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gypsywriter135/pseuds/Gypsywriter135
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Pitch is a grumpy old man, Jack tries to be understanding, and things don't go according to plan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Heartfelt

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Duckgomery](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Duckgomery/gifts).



> This is birthday fic for my Senpai [Duckgomery](http://duckgomery.tumblr.com/), who is amazing and awesome and I just love her! It was inspired by her "[This Old House](http://archiveofourown.org/series/35475)" and "[Snapshots](http://archiveofourown.org/works/766813/chapters/1437297)" fics, and takes place after the chapter "[Father's Day](http://archiveofourown.org/works/766813/chapters/1678507)" in that particular story.

Pitch hates Father’s Day.

He hates it with a fiery burning passion of a thousand suns. Maybe a thousand and one, he’s still up in the air about that last one. Depends on the day and whether or not Jack has raided his private stash of coffee.

The little shit.

The closer the dreaded date comes, the more Pitch locks himself up in his room. He slips out for restroom use and, occasionally, food. He has a secret stash of instant coffee hidden under hid bed, and no one will ever know.

(He’s pretty sure Jack knows).

At least all the misery proves to supply new book material. And he’s actually productive.

Still.

He hates the wretched day. Everyone else in the house knows this fact, and as the date looms over their heads, they all take extra care to avoid the tall, dark man.

Pitch is okay with this.

Except this year, for some reason, Jack has decided to forgo any and all past traditions and has been bugging Pitch nonstop for an entire week.

He’s been overly helpful, bringing Pitch coffee and homemade food and attempting to help him write his book. Pitch, at first, didn’t suspect anything, just slightly annoyed by the constant presence. But the longer it went on, the more irritated and wary Pitch became.

“What type of character does that one have as a father?”

“Which of these old geezers is your dad?”

“Where did you live as a kid?" 

“Did you and your dad have any special things between the two of you?”

“What did you used to do on Father’s Day?”

It’s the last question, spoken quietly with a hesitance that Pitch won’t realize until later, that finally pushes him over the edge. He swivels around in his chair, away from his laptop, to glare at Jack, who is lounging on his bed.

Jack stares back at him with wide eyes, a frown on his face and slight hope in his eyes.

“If you don’t want to tell me, that’s okay!” the teen quickly backs up. “I mean, I know it’s a sore topic, so-”

“Then why ask?” Pitch manages to clench out between his teeth. He’s still glaring at Jack and although he thinks that the kid doesn’t mean any harm by his question, he can’t help it. He really, _really_ doesn’t want to think about this topic any longer.

Jack gives a shrug. “I dunno. Just curious.”

That’s bullshit, and Pitch knows that Jack knows he knows. But he’s a little too fed up with Jack’s shenanigans and whatever it is that he is planning at the moment so he lets it go. For now, at least. Jack is still acting suspicious and Pitch isn’t sure whether or not he wants to know what the other is planning.

“Don’t you have an early class tomorrow?” he says instead as a way of dismissal, turning back around and clicking away at his keyboard to drive his point home.

Jack is silent behind him, and Pitch feels a little bit of a stab of guilt in his heart. He’s sure that Jack is just trying to get to know him a bit more, but he can’t… not with this topic. Any other topic except this. A part of him wants to turn around, to apologize, to make sure that Jack is alright after that rude dismissal, but Pitch can’t. He can’t talk about this…

He hears the bed springs squeak as Jack climbs off the bed, followed by the sound of bare feet on the steps. The door opens and closes and Pitch raises his hands from the keyboard to clutch at his hair.

He hates Father’s Day.

* * *

 The dreaded day comes, looming over Pitch like an umbrella that only holds storm clouds for him. The others give him his reasonable berth, steering clear of him.

All except Jack.

One day, Pitch is going to ask the boy how he manages to walk through life without such an umbrella, because the kid is seriously chipper all the damn time. Well, most of the time.

Yuck.

Pitch and the teen are the only ones in the house at this point. Tooth’s got some sort of field trip for the kids, and Pitch wonders where the education system is at if kids have to have school on a weekend. North is out visiting his own family for a bit, while Aster disappeared mysteriously this morning and hasn’t been seen or heard from since. Sandy… well, Pitch isn’t actually sure where the short man is at, but he knows that he’s not at home.

Which leaves Pitch alone with a silent Jack. He vaguely recalls the teen stating that he had an exam that he needed to study for tomorrow, but he’s been scarily quiet since heading upstairs. Usually, Jack’s “studying” methods involve loud noises and _not_ actually studying until the wee hours of the morning where he doesn’t sleep and skips off to class barefoot. 

Pitch is still suspicious about the recent behavior, but he’s also a little guilty about snapping at the lad (Jack hasn’t spoken directly to him since that night), as well as the familiar hatred that this day brings.

He’s currently sitting in his room in front of his computer, staring at a blank document that he had opened in the hopes of getting some writing done, but all he’s done is type and delete, type and delete.

Sometimes he really hates being a writer.

There’s something missing, Pitch realizes. Unfortunately, it takes him most of the day to figure out what it is. And it’s only when he hears Jack’s soft pitter patter of feet on the floor above him that it dawns on Pitch that the thing he’s missing is sound.

It’s much too quiet in the house. Pitch is used to the hustle and bustle of the continuous traffic above him, or loud music blaring, or loud arguments, or continuous laughter. But at the moment, there’s nothing but silence.

Pitch sighs, standing and glaring at the blank document before he stretches out his back and heads upstairs. Maybe a cup of coffee and a brief vocal exchange with Jack will give him some form of motivation. Usually Jack’s got pretty decent ideas on how to start something.

Not that Pitch would ever tell him this.

When he leaves his darkened cave and emerges into the lightened kitchen, he is surprised to see a wrapped package on the counter. It’s bright blue with a silver bow on it, sitting right next to his coffee machine.

He’s curious, because this is obviously from Jack, based on the colors and the way it’s wrapped, and it’s meant for him, if the nametag and the placement is anything to go by. But Pitch can’t figure _why_ , because it’s not his birthday, it’s not a major holiday, and, as far as he knows, Jack hasn’t done anything to warrant this type of forgiveness lately.

At least not to him; Aster’s still looking for that apology for when Jack swapped out all his rose bushes for strawberry bushes.

Pitch looks around the room for a sign of the boy, but Jack’s disappeared in that way he has, probably lurking in the shadows somewhere. Pitch has neither the time nor the energy to look for the kid, so he sighs and hangs his head, stepping forward and grabbing the package slowly.

He examines the gift carefully, a little wary; he’s overdue for a prank from the teen, and this just reeks of suspicion. He turns it over in his hands, looking for any sign of bad news. But he finds nothing. It’s a simple square present, a box with something nestled carefully inside.

“It won’t bite.”

Pitch _does not_ yelp as he spins around to face a smirking Jack. He shoots the teen a glare.

“Don’t _do_ that,” he growls.

Jack only grins back at him. Pitch rolls his eyes and waves the still-wrapped package in front of the boy’s face.

“What is this?”

“A gift.”

“Yes, I got that. But why?”

“’Cause I appreciate you and I felt bad that you spent all day in your cave of gloominess.”

Pitch raises an eyebrow. Jack waves a hand at him.

“I promise, it’s not a prank.”

Pitch is still unconvinced. He’s seen Jack work, knows his ways. So it’s with careful precision and diligence that he unwraps the gift. He sheds the paper and crumples it into a ball, setting it on the counter behind him. Then he works on the tape on the box, opening it cautiously.

He is not prepared for what he sees inside.

Sitting carefully in the packing peanuts in this small little box is a picture, surrounded by a black frame. In the picture is a younger looking Pitch, a huge smile on his face as his arms wrap around a small, petite, young girl of about five years old. She’s smiling so widely that her eyes are clenched shut, mouth open in a laugh as Pitch holds her close.

Pitch’s breath hitches, the air getting caught in his chest as his throat tightens and closes. He’s suddenly got tunnel vision, seeing nothing but the little girl in the photo, which is shaking in his trembling hands.

The picture… Pitch has no idea where Jack found this. He’s carefully hidden all remnants of this out of view. But the memory is still fresh. He can hear the girl’s laughter, see her smile as clear as day, feel the warmth in his heart as he holds his bab-

The sound of glass shattering on the kitchen floor jerks him back to reality.

“Pitch?” Jack’s voice penetrates his thoughts, and his head snaps up from where he was apparently gazing at the broken frame. Jack’s face is worried and a little hesitant.

“What…” Pitch gulps, unable to form words behind the lump in his throat.

“You okay?” Jack asks.

Pitch’s mouth opens and closes like a fish, and he can’t seem to speak. Images, unwanted and unwelcomed, flash through his mind.

“Uh…” Jack sounds uncertain. “Happy Father’s Day?”

Those words are like a whip and Pitch can suddenly see clearly again. A little too clearly, he thinks, but his vision is focused as he glares at Jack.

“Is this some type of horrendous prank?” he hisses.

Jack looks confused, eyes wide.

“No,” he says. He bites his lip. “What’d I do?”

“What’d you do?” Pitch snarls and steps forward, crunching glass under his slippered feet and crinkling the photo. “Do you think this is a game?”

Jack’s eyes are impossibly wide as he takes a step back, not sure what’s wrong and what he’s done to warrant this type of reaction. He should, Pitch thinks. He’s the only one who knows.

“I just wanted to show you… you know…” Jack stammers, and Pitch can’t seem to get control of himself. “You… you’ve sort of been like a father to me… more-so than my own and I just…”

Pitch reaches forward and grabs the front of Jack’s hoodie, bringing him nose to nose. “You are an ungrateful and devious little shit and you should know better than this. I am done with you, Jack. Done. I don’t ever want to see you again, you hear me? As long as we live together in this house, we’d better not be in the same room at the same time." 

With his inner voice screaming at him to stop, Pitch roughly shoves Jack away. He reaches down and picks up the picture from the broken glass, tearing into pieces viciously and stalks back to his basement room, slamming the door behind him. He descends the steps quickly and stands before his computer.

He lets out an agonized yell, grabbing his notebooks and pencils and anything around him that’s not plugged in and hurls it at the wall, uncaring that things break and scatter around the room. He slinks to his bed and falls into it face forward, grabbing a pillow and screaming into it.

Pitch doesn’t realize that he’s crying until later, after he’s calmed down some.

There’s no sound from above him, and Pitch isn’t sure whether he’s crying because of Jack or because of the daughter that he’s lost. 

* * *

 It takes Pitch three days before he runs out of food in his emergency stash and he has to go upstairs. He times it for when he knows everyone is out, including Jack.

Well, mostly because of Jack. He had come to his senses about a day ago and realized that maybe he had over-reacted and that Jack was just trying to do something nice for once and maybe deserves an apology and an explanation.

He’s just not sure whether he’s ready for that talk yet though. Not just yet. He needs time to organize his thoughts a little, and he’s in desperate need of coffee.

The good kind, not the instant crap he’s got in his room.

So it’s with careful planning that he emerges and pads to the kitchen after a stop at the bathroom. The mess he made has been swept up and there’s a cake box from Aster on the counter. Pitch sets about making some coffee and grabbing some of Tooth’s fat-free pasta, and it’s not until he heads to the microwave that he sees it.

Pinned to the side of the fridge, in Jack’s messy scrawl, is a note with a single word on it.

“Sorry” glares at Pitch and he feels even guiltier than he did before.

The microwaves beeping signals his doom.

Jack strides into the kitchen at that moment, and Pitch is at a loss for words when their eyes meet. He internally hates himself and he’s also a little miffed because _how dare Jack be home during class_ when he belatedly remembers that Jack’s lab was cancelled today.

The two stare at each other, and Pitch can’t look away while Jack can’t look him in the eyes and Pitch doesn’t think that the two have ever felt this awkward with each other. They’ve always been comfortable with one another and things have never gone this way before.

Pitch is also sure that he’s never seen Jack act so meek before. The teen is always flitting around, always full of life, and now he just looks unsure and Pitch could slap himself. Between the snippets that Jack has shared about his own father, it’s clear that he wasn’t treated as well as a son should be treated.

The tall man remembers the words that Jack had uttered after giving him the photo, and, though he’s still a little confused, a fierce protection instinct washes over him, one that he’s not felt in years and that he’s pushed away. 

“I’m sorry,” Jack mutters, breaking through Pitch’s reverie and Pitch stares at him. “I… I didn’t know…”

Pitch doesn’t say anything, unsure. Because of course Jack knew; the boy’s smart and clever and pays attention to everything that Pitch _doesn’t_ say.

“I just figured,” Jack continues, still soft and avoiding Pitch’s gaze and rambling, “that…. You know, you’re just… you’re a good… I mean, you’ve always… What I’m trying to say is that I…”

Jack is glaring at the floor now and Pitch feels a stab to the heart because he knows what Jack is trying to say and he kind of feels the same way, he’s just never known it until now, and he’s suddenly overcome with so many different feelings at the same time and he _doesn’t know what to do_.

So he does the only thing that feels right and, microwavable food and fresh coffee be damned, rushes forward and grabs Jack, wrapping his arms around him tightly as he pulls him into a hug.

Jack is stiff at first, unsure what’s happening, until Pitch whispers, “I’m sorry,” into his hair. “Jack, my boy, I am so, so sorry.”

It’s only after that that Jack seems to relax and melts into the embrace, hugging Pitch back. The two speak over each other, trying to out-apologize the other.

“-I didn’t realize-”

“-I should have told you-”

“-it was rude of me to-”

“-not your fault-”

“-I wanted to do something-”

“-it’s just that it’s been so long-”

“-show you how I feel-”

“-didn’t think-”

“I’m sorry.”

The last one is said simultaneously and there is a pause afterwards that could potentially decide their fate. It’s pregnant and stale and thick and the two stand there, holding each other as they both wonder how this will play out.

They both burst out laughing.

There is a weight lifting off Pitch’s shoulders as Jack steps backwards and no, neither of them wipe their eyes.

“We sure are a pair,” Pitch comments.

“Speak for yourself,” Jack grins at him. “I’m one of a kind.”

Pitch rolls his eyes before he turns serious again. He puts a hand on Jack’s shoulder, needing to get this out. He needs Jack to understand and he wants to explain, to show Jack that he’s really not heartless.

Somehow, Jack seems to know because before Pitch can speak, he looks the man in the eye and nods.

And in that moment, Pitch knows he’s been forgiven.

Jack rustles in his hoodie pocket for a moment before he pulls out a piece of paper and shyly hands it to Pitch.

No, not a paper, Pitch realizes as he takes the photo, taped carefully back together, and unfolds it. The familiar picture still sends a stab of heartbreak into him, but Pitch, after looking at Jack, feels like he can handle it.

“Her name was Seraphina,” he says softly, answering Jack’s silent question.

“She looks like you,” Jack whispers.

Pitch nods, tracing a finger over the girl on the photo briefly. “Would you like to hear about her?”

Jack looks unsure, but Pitch gives him a reassuring smile, still not sure if this is the better path, but knowing it’s the right one.

“Yeah, I’d… I’d like that,” Jack says.

The two move to the couch, where Pitch begins. He chokes up on some of the stories, not used to the memories and the pain still raw. He doesn’t think he’ll ever be over it, but Jack, his big blue eyes and his understanding face help.

Pitch is glad, in the end. He can breathe a little easier.

“She’d be about your age now,” he adds at the end of his tales. “Probably just as energetic.”

Jack grins. “Probably.”

“You two would have gotten along great,” Pitch continues. “I’m glad you were able to find this, Jack. Thank you.”

Jack is silent, and Pitch wonders what’s going on in his head. Jack’s mind is always mysterious and Pitch can never figure out what goes on in there.

“You’re welcome,” he says at last. There’s more he wants to say, Pitch can tell, but there’s something holding him back.

Pitch doesn’t push; it’ll come out in it’s own time.

“I’ve never really been a fan of Father’s Day,” Jack says eventually. “But I just… I needed you to know.”

It’s a loaded statement, but Pitch gets it. Jack’s own father was a jerk, giving the kid a lot of problems that he still deals with. If last year’s Father’s Day was any indication, then Jack really needed a strong parental figure in his life.

Instead of latching onto North or even Sandy, Jack had chosen Pitch. And Pitch had been sucked in without even knowing into the blizzard that was Jack. He was too caught up in it to leave, in it for the long haul.

Somehow, this kid had entered his life and dragged him, kicking and screaming, into the light and shown him what it was like to care, something that Pitch had forgotten. He’d been so wrapped up in “what if’s” and Jack had shown him the “nows” and thrown everything else away.

Pitch didn’t realize he smiled more nowadays.

He was okay with this.

“I know,” he says softly. Jack grins at him, and Pitch feels some part of his heart that was shrouded in darkness light up.

Because while he may have lost a daughter, he’d gained a son along the way. One that needed him more than Pitch could imagine. And maybe Pitch needed him a little, too.

Either way, they were in this together now.

Pitch couldn’t find a reason to say no.

And, as he and Jack sat on the couch and talked and bantered, maybe Father’s Day wasn’t all that bad after all, Pitch thought.

**Author's Note:**

> (I actually don't know what Senpai has in mind for Pitch and why he hates Father's Day, so I just sort of rolled with it....)
> 
> I HOPE THIS IS OKAY FOR YOU, SENPAI!!! HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!!!


End file.
